


Something More, Something Else (Motor City Remix)

by Isis



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cars, Excessive Use of Automotive Metaphor, F/M, Other, POV Inanimate Object, Remix, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She used to be a car.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The Pig's perspective on Gansey and Blue's relationship; in which the Camaro is a bit of a yenta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More, Something Else (Motor City Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flyingcarpet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcarpet/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Something More, Something Else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599403) by [flyingcarpet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcarpet/pseuds/flyingcarpet). 



> Flyingcarpet tagged her original story with 'The Pig', and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Thanks to ariadnes_string for beta-reading.

She used to be a car. 

Well, she was still, technically, a car. Steel and glass and rubber, three hundred and fifty cubic inches of engine, hydraulic tappets and bucket seats. No different to the eye from the other cars that growled along the roads of Virginia. Sexier, sportier, more well-loved; but still, a car.

But she used to be _just_ a car. Before Gansey's friend Ronan had taken her, driven her into a telephone pole. Before he had killed her. He had then raised her from the dead, out of his dreams, combining his memories of her with his power and spirit. She had been born again, like the people gathering at the Henrietta Baptist Church on a Sunday morning, like the god on the cross to whom they prayed. Born again as Gansey had been, after he was stung to death by hornets.

And like Gansey, she had been changed by her rebirth.

It had been Ronan who had wakened her to what she had become, but she was not his. Not like the raven which swooped low to perch on his patterned shoulder. That bird was a creature of his mind alone, and he had made her live because he saw her as living. But the car in his mind was not a live thing. That car had been only a car – Gansey's car – and so Ronan hadn't thought of her as anything else, hadn't consciously brought her to life when he had created her anew. But still, she lived.

The power that pulsed under her hood now had a second rhythm humming beneath it, an undertone. There was the mechanical roar of the engine, the spark plugs detonating the gasoline vapor in the cylinders in rapid succession, little explosions that drove the crankshaft to move, the wheels to turn. Then there was the soft thrum that echoed the blood pumping through Gansey's body. His was the desire that animated her: his hands on her wheel, his foot on her accelerator, his heart yearning toward a destination.

But even that was not quite enough. Her engine needed a battery to provide the spark to start it going. Her newly-aware self needed a battery, too.

And then Blue opened the door and got in.

* * *

It's easy to forget that power goes both ways down a transmission line. The engine makes the crankshaft turn the wheels; everyone knows that. But if your battery's dead and you're perched on a hilltop, you can do it in reverse. Roll downhill, and the wheels will turn the crankshaft, and that will start the engine.

* * *

_He needs you. He wants you. Don't leave him, girl._

"I was wrong," said Blue.

Under the roar of her engine the Camaro hummed with satisfaction. Blue completed the circuit; Blue was the missing part of the machinery, the psychic spark that made her roar to life. She needed Blue in order to reach her potential. Gansey needed Blue to reach his. Blue needed both of them, she was certain of that. The portents of destiny clung to Blue like a cloud of exhaust, like a halo of bright sunshine. Blue had helped to bring her to life. She owed it to Blue to do the same for her.

And Gansey...well, of course she loved him. Even if he wouldn't race her the way Ronan did. Even if he called her by an unflattering name. 

Gansey tickled the accelerator, caressed the wheel. She dipped and turned as he directed, the surface under her tires turning from asphalt to dirt. Moonlight striped her hood. The stars above were distant headlights.

He turned the key and killed the engine, but that didn't matter. It was only the engine. Not her.

_Don't let her go. Don't let her pretend._

"Tell me," Gansey said. His fingers tightened on her wheel. "That this – that what we have – is something."

_It's everything. You know that, girl. Tell him. Tell him._

No doubt Blue heard only the flex of cooling metal, felt only the upholstery against her legs and shoulders, but she pressed the thought toward Blue with all the energy she could.

_Tell him._

And she did.

* * *

"I want more," said Blue, and around her the Camaro thrummed in agreement. She wanted more, too. These bodies of flesh and swiftly-beating hearts, their energy vibrating, faster and faster, pegging the meter. It was time to shift into a higher gear. Silently she urged them on.

"No kissing," said Gansey ruefully. 

_Yes kissing. You want to. She wants to._ But as soon as she thought that, she felt the danger in it, a dark reflection from the psychic field that animated her. There was a barrier, a prohibition. It wasn't a speed limit sign on a straight highway, a stupid restriction placed by bureaucrats and enforced by petty men driving cars that despite their shiny paint and brightly flashing lights were only cars, not even as fast as she was. No, this was the yellow sign, stark black numbers and an equally black curving arrow: ignore at your peril and go over the cliff.

 _Something else, then_ , she told him, and he repeated it to Blue. They looked at each other, desperate, wanting. She wanted, too.

Her movement was limited with her motor off, but she did what she could. She bumped against Gansey, first with the steering wheel, then with the gearshift, and finally he let out a long whoosh of exhaust from his throat. "Let's – let's get in the backseat."

* * *

They didn't kiss. But that was all right, since they did so much else. Blue made soft staccato gasps, sucking in air in sharp little gusts, as though her motor was straining to turn over. Gansey's hands slid against her skin, under her clothing. His fingers slipped up under her skirt. He ground himself down against the upholstery of the Camaro's backseat. Heat came off their skin, mingled with the heat radiating back from the engine compartment. 

A spark caught. Flared. Ignited a chain reaction.

Blue arched and gasped. Gansey bit his lip as he pressed one more time against the slick vinyl, and shuddered against them both. The Camaro rocked gently on its tires.

* * *

Afterward, Gansey could not keep himself from burying his face in her short hair. He still wanted to kiss her, but it was no longer the same desperate ache. There was so much, he realized, they could still do. When he pulled back and gave Blue a still-shaky smile, she rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled close to him. "Either the earth just moved, or the Pig needs new shocks," she murmured.

"Both, I suspect," he said lightly. He'd felt it, too. He hadn't thought the Henrietta area was prone to earthquakes. Good thing he'd remembered to set the parking brake.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Something More, Something Else (Motor City Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420818) by [annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapods/pseuds/annapods)




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